


Sic transit gloria mundi

by uniabocetaP



Series: Tales of War [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Council Meeting, Gen, Gondor, Minas Tirith, Pre-War of the Ring, preparing for war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniabocetaP/pseuds/uniabocetaP
Summary: Imrahil attends the Great Council meeting of Gondor.
Relationships: Boromir & Denethor, Boromir & Théodred, Imrahil & Boromir, Imrahil & Denethor
Series: Tales of War [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1310627





	Sic transit gloria mundi

**Author's Note:**

> “Sic transit Gloria mudi”. This phrase had been part of the Terrifying Tolkien Week prompts a couple of years ago. It had remained in my “to do list for a while”. It seems that I finally got the inspiration to actually write it.

**3014 TA, Minas Tirith**

Today it was one of those rare mornings that were beautiful. November was a depressing month for the entirety of Gondor; it was only worse in Minas Tirith. The White City was grey, humid and the cold wind cut to the bone; her people depressed by the rapidly decreasing daylight. All the gardens were rotting in preparation for the winter nakedness and the sun hiding behind perpetual clouds.

For Imrahil, this was the worse possible month to be in the capital of the Kingdom. Every time he was here, he could understand how his sister had withered away. December was better; the promise of snow and the Yuletide festivities brightened everyone’s mood. Unfortunately, his presence in the City was required this time of the year and for the past decade he weathered the climate and bittersweet memories, for Denethor preferred to hold the annual Council Meeting at this time of the year.

Prince Imrahil saw the logic in the Steward’s decision. All the regional leaders could attend. There was no harvest to stop them, no hunting, no snow blocking the travel routes. The sea was not dangerous just yet. It was a good time to evaluate their actions of the year and reevaluate policies for the upcoming year. Every lord of a Fiefdom had to attend the Steward’s Council and as the second most powerful Lord in the Kingdom of Gondor, the Prince of Dol Amroth and Belfalas always sat next to him.

The last day of the long meeting had come and it was the first one that the sun appeared on the sky. Weak its presence was, but still more than welcome to warm his heart. Imrahil dressed and ate breakfast as fast as he could; he missed his Lady this morning. Together, he and his wife, would walk around the harbor during morning like this, trying to soak up the sun before it was gone again. She would laugh at the random snippets of sailors’ stories they would hear; her laugh was clear and loud. El was however in Dol Amroth, managing his household and Fiefdom while he was away in the Steward’s Council and so he had to take this walk alone.

Among the stone pathways there were not much to be found or seen at this early hour. Perhaps, at the lower levels, the bakers and the smiths would already be at work; but at the sixth level few people were about. His footsteps echoed alone, no birds respond to his whistling as they had all gone south to find warmer places. _Smart,_ he applauded their migratory habits. Eventually, without much thought, he found himself walking towards a small clearing by the East City Wall. From there, he could see Anduin in a clear morning.

El had found this quiet corner of the Sixth Circle the first year of their marriage. They often brought their children and nephews to sit bellow the cherry tree and enjoy the landscape. A big chestnut tree was in the middle, bare now of leaves. In February, it bore pink flowers that adorned the benches around its base. More flowering plants had been placed in a circular arrangement to accentuate the tree. Imrahil knew not which plants they were, despite El’s best efforts to teach him.

_I will forgive you, love,_ she had said, _because they are useless but for the pleasure of the eye._ El was a healer above all.

The clearing was not empty. Two figures stood in the middle, tall and unyielding, stony and sturdy against the clear morning wind. He could see but their backs and still he recognized them before the younger men even noticed his approach. The shorter of the two had a head crowned by blond hair unique to their allies in the North. Prince Theodred of Rohan had a polite attitude towards everyone and everything, causing some lords to take him lightly. The other man was easily identifiable as the dark looking elder son of the Steward and his nephew, Boromir. Imrahil would have recognized him everywhere, the joy on his face was always the same, full of delight when seeing his kin.

“Uncle!” Boromir has noticed him and moved forward to embrace him in as a tight hug as he could give. “I should have expected to see you here. How could you have passed on the opportunity to enjoy the sun before Father lock us up in that dreary room?”

“How could I miss my last opportunity for a morning walk this season?”

“Good! Aunt would approve, how is she?”

“Faring well. Healthy and busy as always. I suspect she misses me less than I miss her right now”.

Boromir laughed at Imrahil’s words; he always enjoyed the small details of daily life even if he had not pursued one for himself. Theodred smiled politely.

“How is your wife, my lord Prince?” Imrahil asked the Rohir politely. He had attended his wedding a year ago.

A cloud passed over the other man’s eyes, but he let it not expand. “She is better. The winter was not kind to us and the summer even less. She has started depending upon my cousin, Eowyn, for a lot of the household matters”.

Imrahil nodded gravely. Often young couples were burdened with lost children and their missing laughter. He said nothing more on the matter, but he doubted not that this was the case. Surely, the Prince of the Mark was under pressure to deliver an heir.

“Perhaps, a visit to Dol Amroth would be useful for your lady. Sea air and sweet-smelling forests will do as much to help you and your lady to recover as our healers. We have the best in Gondor”.

“He refers to my aunt” Boromir put in helpfully, causing Imrahil to roll his eyes and Theodred to laugh. It was a warm but short lived sound and he wondered whether he had heard Theodred laughing before coming to the Gondorian Court.

“I am thankful for the offer, my lord Prince. But Gondor’s healers are not alone in their peril”.

The Prince of Dol Amroth frowned. “I was not aware that the Wild Men caused so much trouble on your borders. Surely, your potent ally to the West should be able to help you calm the waters…”

“You are the first, my lord, to ever remember we have the Dunlendings harassing our borders”. Imrahil was surprised to realise the thankful undertone of the words. How many times had he been laughed at because _Rohan had safe borders?_ Had they reached that point, where they considered themselves and their burdens superior to those of their only allies? _Fools,_ Imrahil thought.

“Theodred,” Boromir placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You do not need to bring up the matter at council today. I have already talked with him, and we _will_ discuss it in more private setting as well, you, me, Faramir, father and uncle”.

“Indeed, some matters are better solved away from the Council” Imrahil tried to encourage the heir to Rohan. “Come on, lads! The sun is shining and if we do not want to wrath the Steward, we need to get moving”.

Small talk dominated their discussions as they headed to the Citadel. The courtyard was already full with other Lords heading for the meeting chamber. Soon, Imrahil was dragged about by lord Telpennor. The new lord of Pelargir was more than willing to talk in order to hear his own voice; Imrahil tried to spend as little time as possible in his company.

The Council Chamber was spacious but devoid of light and air. Adrahil’s hypothesis had been that the Steward favoured this room in order to dull the senses of his lords and thus get his way easier. Imrahil had laughed that summer night, arguing that his naturally dull character would suffice, only to be rebutted by Ivriniel.

_Only Princes of Dol Amroth would think to stoop so low… thankfully for our people I am around to keep things running,_ she had snorted.

Imrahil was now seated next to his other sister’s husband, with her eldest son across from him. Denethor looked grim and uninterested in the talk of Boromir, Imrahil and Theodred, waiting in silence for all lords to assemble. Despite the Steward’s outward appearance, Imrahil could feel the Steward’s eyes on them; sometimes he felt that the older man was displeased, when he showed interest in his nephews’ doings. Or maybe, he was just interested to listen, observe, and be prepared.

What did he plan to do? He knew Denethor long enough to feel that he had a plan, he had talked enough with his brother in law to know that he foresaw trouble. It was unsettling that with the passing of each year, he turned more secretive, sharing his mind less and less.

He kept his disappointed and worry for himself, instead he focused on the commencing discussion around the table. The talk had been for nothing else really the last days, the Eye of the Enemy was moving. Open war was not upon them, not yet. However, only a fool would think that war would not come. Imrahil said his bit about pirates and Telpennor, not a man to be outdone in any way, did not refrain from monologuing about the lacking virtues of the _Umbarian scum._

“Problems are not only arising here,” Boromir brought the attention to Theodred, who silently had been observing the discussions up to that point. “The Rohirrim have troubles of their own”. The Heir of Rohan relayed the message of his father, Theoden King, in his quiet and polite manner. Everyone listened to him, despite of how low his words sounded after the booming monologue of Lord Telpennor.

“What about the White Wizard?” Denethor had spoken for the first time in some time. “Such a potent ally should be able to help you with that matter”.

Theodred stiffened, and Boromir seemed unsettled; he had been sure of his father support on this matter. Imrahil was alarmed and angry. “I am sure that the White Wizard would be of help,” Imrahil commented scathingly. “However, it would be unwise and dishonorable to discard any danger that befalls upon us or our allies. However small, however easy its solution might seem”.

Denethor did flinch, a movement almost invisible but for those who knew what to look for. The topic of the skirmish at the borders of another land was discussed, till there was no solution agreed upon, but the common desire to find one was established. The room had been stuffy with the sweat and odor of men getting warm and dull, and when the men were drowsy, the topic finally turned to finances.

Some lords wished to raise taxes in order to fund the raising military costs. Some were against it; including a passionate defender of the common folk on the face on the Boromir, and an equally determined Imrahil to protect trade and businesses. Most people in the room remained lethargic, however, and silent on the matter. Imrahil felt enraged, how could it be this group of bored men who had to form a Kingdom’s future policies? What did it take to make them pay attention to things that matter? What had happened to the glorious and honorable men who defended the country in all possible manners? They are found in the songs.

The Steward had remained silent over the course of the discussion, his face unreadable. Finally, he raised his hand and announced. “We will not raise the taxes this year”.

Some lords smiled with satisfaction or relief. Imrahil smiled as well, but not out of smug satisfaction, he could see already the game that old fox was at. Next year, when the tax raise will be mentioned, then it will be accepted. It will be accepted because the seed has been planted already, it will blossom because the war will be closer if not started already. The raise will be greater than what they just rejected, but it would be accepted because they will have already accepted the possibility of higher tax over the year and the looming threat in the East will have darken their dreams.

Denethor was a politician who knew how to manipulate his Council to get his will. Ivriniel would approve.

The rest of the session turned to inconsequential matters, allowing him time to gather his thoughts and study his brother in law. He looked even more tired than usual, older than he should have been. The strain of rule was defined on his face. Sorrow was ever present since Finduilas death, but his sons had kept him from despair. Was there a hint of it on his noble features now? Denethor felt his gaze and raised an eyebrow towards him but said nothing for now.

The end of the Council meeting was greeted with equal amounts of formality and relief. Most of the men filtered out of the room in groups, discussing parts of the policy making, some of them following up on private matters. Imrahil followed his brother in law out of the room and into the Steward’s private study. Denethor pointed to a chair, but he declined. He had been sitting for too long. Imrahil did not decline the glass of wine he was offered.

“How much money should I put aside for your treasury, my lord?” he sipped the wine slowly.

A sly smile appeared on the Stewards face, the first he had seen during his visit here. It was gone as soon as the fresh air entered the room from the window the Steward had just opened. “Please tell me that at least you were not surprised of the outcome”.

“I should have thought earlier about it,” the Prince shrugged his shoulders. “Your sneaky techniques of putting us in that room, do not work entirely on me, my lord Steward”.

“You are getting old, Imrahil”.

“You are still older than me.”

For a few moments they said nothing, enjoying the fresh air.

“I know you judge me for not nudging the decision towards immediate help for the Rohirrim” Denethor started. “But we have no men to spare, fewer resources than everyone thinks”.

“There must be something we can offer; we cannot let our only allies without any help”.

Denethor nodded in agreement. “I know… I trust Boromir that will come up with something useful for both countries. He is eager to forge good ties with the prince, which pleases me”.

It made perfect sense. The two men are the future leaders of their Kingdoms, it would be good for them to ease into collaboration.

“We will need to call upon them soon” a matter of fact, which was clear to Imrahil at that moment, despite how much it grieved him.

Denethor sipped a bit of his wine. “I am afraid so, even though I believe we have a few years left to prepare”.

“How long?”

“Two to three winters” Denethor’s voice was clipped, full of certainty.

Imrahil sighed. He would never be sure where he got the information, Denethor had grown to have as many eyes as Adrahil had. He had been seeing the signs at the Seas of his own territory, the whispers came with the merchant ships, the proof with the pirate sails. No, he was sure that the war was coming, he could feel it in his heart. He only grieved for his sons and his nephews, who had to spend the best years of their lives in this mess. He could only wish that they will come out alive.

“We will do what we can”. Denethor said. “Minas Tirith will not fall easily, especially if Dol Amroth is standing with her”.

“Of course, we will fight for Gondor. However, this doesn’t make me less sad in the prospect of war”.

“Good. I will need someone in this council who will not look out for glory”. The Steward moved to sit on his desk. “Even though, sometimes, you express that romantic soul, which hides within you”.

The Prince laughed but denied it not. Of course, he was a romantic, but he preferred pointless heroism to stay in songs.

“How are you?” he finally asked. “What do you really fear?”

Denethor was surprised, he did not seem to expect the question. “There are a lot to be prepared, and we run out of time”. He sighed and for a moment he let his mind race to other things. “We got the bad luck of facing the battle that everyone prepared for. And I am afraid we are not ready for it”.

Fear gripped Imrahil but said no more. What was left for them to do but take the plunge?


End file.
